Too Much
by Gabs
Summary: A more than slightly drunken convo... humor


Too Much 

By Gabs

Disclaimer: Not mine. No big surprise. 

**A/N:** _Yeah… I started this 20 minutes ago, and I'm not entirely sure why, but here it is anyway. It's… potentially pointless, but it amused me, so I hope you get some kind of enjoyment out of it._

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"You're a bastard," she stated slowly. 

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me!" she slurred. "You are a bastard," each word carefully enunciated. 

"Is that so?"

"Absolutely."

"Well, I think I may be wounded… the lovely Sydney Bristow finds me to be a bastard."

"Damn straight she does," Sydney mumbled.

"Do you make a frequent habit of referring to yourself in the third person?" he inquired. She shot him an unfocused glare.

"Bastard."

"Yes… I believe we've covered that."

"Just makin' sure."

"Of course you are, and I truly appreciate you making sure I'm quite aware of my status." She frowned at him, then downed another drink. "Perhaps you might think about making that your last," he recommended tactfully.

"Why? So I don't fall down drunk the moment I stand up?"

"Well… that wouldn't be very dignified, now would it? Can't have you harming your reputation."

"You can be very charming sometimes," Sydney noted, ordering another round.

"Oh really?"

"Mhmmm."

"But I thought I was a bastard?"

"Don't worry, you are… you're just… a charming bastard. That's it." He arched an eyebrow, obviously amused.

"Isn't that an oxymoron?" She shrugged.

"Dunno… but it's true." He rolled his eyes, taking a sip of his wine.

"Of course it is. Now, might I inquire as to why you're here right now, getting drunk beyond recognition?" She frowned.

"No. You might not."

"Very well."

"Hey."

"Yes?"

"Why come you're not drunk?" He arched an eyebrow at her, holding back a laugh.

"Perhaps because in the hour I've been here, I've not finished two glasses of wine, yet in the half hour you've been here, you've downed six shots of… whatever that is you're drinking?"

"Oh… yeah, maybe." She perked up a moment later, grinning at him drunkenly. "Let's dance!" He gave her a dubious look.

"Sydney, I'm quite sure that is _not_ a good idea."

"Don't think so?"

"No… I truly don't."

"Ok. Fine."

"No argument?" She shook her head emphatically, then winced.

"That wasn't such a good idea either," she noted.

"No, I don't imagine it was."

"So how come you don't kill me now?" she questioned. He raised an eyebrow again.

"Would you like me to? All you had to do was ask…" She feebly covered her face with one hand, defending herself needlessly.

"No… I'd appreciate if you wouldn't do that…"

"Is that so?"

"Yes." 

"So why bring it up?"

"Dunno… just seemed a good time for you to do… something evil and dangerous and all together not so good for me."

"Well, I shall refrain, for now."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"Hey."

"Yes?" 

"If you're a bastard, what does that make me?"

"I don't know… why don't you tell me?"

"Maybe that means I'm a b*itch," she suggested thoughtfully.

"Well, if I'm a charming bastard, does this mean you're a charming b*itch?"

"I dunno… does it?"

"Charming, absolutely. Bitch… sometimes."

"Hey!"

"What?"

"That was not so nice."

"So you can call me a bastard-"

"Yep."

"-but I'm not allowed to refer to you as a-"

"Nope."

"Huh. I'm not so sure I like this arrangement."

"I think I do."

"Well, you would."

"Of course I would. It'd be goofy of me not- wait. What are we talking about?"

"The pink dancing elephants."

"Oh… you see them too?" Sydney asked. He slowly turned to look at her.

"No, Sydney, I don't…"

"Oh. Is that really what we were talking about?"

"No."

"Oh… what were we talking about?"

"The joy of sporks," he replied glibly.

"Oh… yeah… sporks are… sporky."

"Yes… that sometimes goes without saying."

"Sometimes," Sydney repeated.

"Yes, sometimes."

"Oh… ok."

"Hey."

"Yes?"

"I wanna dance."

"Didn't we already decide this was a bad idea?"

"No… you did."

"Ah, that's correct… silly of me to forget. Sydney?"

"Eh?"

"How many more of those did you intend to consume?"

"Um… I think I'm done."

"Well… that's good."

"Yeah… I'm gonna dance." He sighed, finished off his second glass of wine, and stood. Sydney followed suit… and promptly crashed to the floor. He frowned and leaned over to help her up, but made no progress due to the mad fit of giggles that had overcome her.

"That was certainly a move executed with your normal amount of grace," he muttered.

"Are we dancing down here?" she asked.

"That was not the plan."

"Oh… really?"

"Really."

"Oh… so what are we doing?"

"How about I take you to your room and you can sleep this off?"

"I have no room."

"Well, I'll get you one."

"How 'bout another drink?"

"How about no?" She pouted like a petulant child.

"Meanie."

"So does this make me a mean charming bastard?"

"Yes."

"Ok, just checking."

"Sark?"

"Yes?"

"I think I had just a little too much to drink."

"Yes… just a little," he replied sarcastically. Moments later, he practically carried her into her room, setting her gently on the bed before turning to leave. As he opened the door, a loud thud stopped him in his tracks, and he slowly turned to see that Sydney had somehow made it to the floor again. Closing and locking the door, he turned back to her and sighed.

"Yes… just a little too much…"


End file.
